“It’s jus’ paint. Henry’s gate’s being painted blue,” said one critic feebly, but on the whole the Outlaws had scored a distinct success in the blue dog.
Then, while they stood in silent admiration round the unhappy animal, came a sound from the next door, a gentle sound like the sighing of the wind through the trees. It rose and fell. It rose again and fell again. It increased in volume with each repetition, till at its height it sounded like a wild animal in pain.
“What’s that?” asked the audience breathlessly.
William was slightly uneasy. He was not sure whether this fresh development would add lustre or dishonour to his show.
“Yes,” he said darkly to gain time, “what is it? I guess you’d like to know what it is!”
“Garn! It’s jus’ snorin’.”
“Snorin’!” repeated William. “It’s not ornery snorin’, that isn’t. Jus’ listen, that’s all! You couldn’t snore like that, I bet. Huh!”
They listened spellbound to the gentle sound, growing louder and louder till at its loudest it brought rapt smiles to their faces, then ceasing abruptly, then silence. Then again the gentle sound that grew and grew.
William asked Henry in a stage whisper if they oughtn’t to charge extra for listening to it. The audience hastily explained that they weren’t listening, they “jus’ couldn’t help hearin’.”
A second batch of sightseers had arrived and were paying their entrance pennies, but the first batch refused to move. William, emboldened by success, opened the door and they crept out to the landing and listened with ears pressed to the magic door.